


A Fight (Danatole angst)

by bananatole



Series: Danatole Oneshot Collection [2]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy (Off-Broadway Cast) RPF, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Danatole, Istg im a slut for angst, M/M, This is completely self indulgent, but i cant write smut, drunk angst, i cant think of a good title, i hate coming up with titles, so youll have to imagine the rest~, this has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananatole/pseuds/bananatole
Summary: This is just some stupid self-indulgent fic with lots of angst.They're also both drunk bc I wanted to drink the night I wrote thisOh, also. My stories ignore The Book *dramatic music*. Let's pretend it's all good :)))))))
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, danatole - Relationship
Series: Danatole Oneshot Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022293
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	A Fight (Danatole angst)

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW: non-consensual kissing at the beginning. It gets better though. Also, alcohol is involved.  
> This is just some stupid self-indulgent fic with lots of angst. In a perfect world, it would turn into smut but I'm too ace to write it properly so   
> Also, Russian and french are translated at the end. Thank you for reading!

" _Rats_.", Anatole stumbled over a rock, managing to regain his composure at the last minute.

The blond man looked around, dizziness hitting him ever so slightly, enough so that it more irked him rather than made his stomach turn.

"I didn't have that much to drink tonight."

Anatole Kuragin scoffed at his state of mind as he walked through a steep Moscow alleyway, head hurting all the more due to the amount of alcohol he had decided to consume that night.   
There is some kind of stage between tipsy and absentmindedly drunk that was more annoying than having to vomit to make oneself feel better. That night, Anatole Kuragin was in that state of tipsiness.

He had been drinking alone in what probably was the first time in a good while. 

  
Nothing had particularly happened that day, apart from a minor fight with his closest friend, Fyodor- one reminiscent of their quarrel back when the prince had plans to elope with countess Rostova.

After the failed abduction, Anatole had been forced to leave for Petersburg, where he spent his days carefree in exile. It had been too long since then and he had returned to Moscow, careful to not fall under Marya Dimitrievna's claws.

Everything seemed to fall into place lately, for the blond had gone back to his old ways and Natasha seemed to have been doing well, from what his dear sister heard from her husband.  
Somehow, they had to have faught today.

_Last time we faught, it ended pleasantly,_ the prince reminisced.

  
Truly, after their fight regarding the elopement was over, Dolokhov and Anatole had made sure to each other that they had _made up._  
Despite that, their recent fight, while petty, had driven Anatole to want to drink more that day. Despite his efforts, though, he couldn't get drunk as he wished, ending up in that annoying middle ground.

After what must have been a few minutes but seemed like ages, Anatole Kuragin finally reached his home. It was empty, as he had left it.

"I don't know what I expected", he muttered, leaving his thick coat on the rack and falling onto the canopy bed with his shoes still on.

Anatole's feet ached but he didn't have the will to throw them off. Instead, the man looked to the ceiling than still seemed to be spinning above him and sighed.

...  
  


_Footsteps._

Anatole's eyes opened from light sleep, his head spinning less, but still not quite sober.

Heavy steps- those that wore army boots- seemed to get closer as the stairway creaked, whoever being the source climbing up. The man looked to the door, knowing exactly who those footsteps belonged to.

The door flung open.

"Анатоль, мерзкий ублюдок*", a man's shadow filled the wall beside the door, making him seem even more frightening despite being of average height.   
Anatole bit his lip.

The figure came closer.

"Ублюдок, трахни свой дом.**", the figure growled even more as he sprung towards the bed in fury. The blond could smell the alcohol from meters away.

"Fedya-"

"Don't 'Fedya' me, useless piece of shit."

It was obvious Dolokhov was drunk out of his mind- not a scene Anatole had never seen before but not one he saw often either.

The soldier wasted no time in practically pouncing on Anatole Kuragin, kissing him hungrily and painfully.

The prince knew this well. It was all of Dolokhov's pent up stress and irritation getting the best of him, making it harder to keep in his system than the alcohol that rotted his liver.

"Stop, mon cher", Anatole almost cried, teeth bumping against each other as he tried to speak. Dolokhov continued for a bit more, as if possessed, the mix of alcohol and fury in his breath making the blond want to vomit.

"You certainly know how to bring out the beast in men.", the armyman spat, panting.

He finally drew back, eyes sparkling with immediate regret.

Anatole did not speak, but only wiped his lips with the back of his hand, looking straight into Dolokhov's eyes.

"Can you tell me what the everliving hell has gotten into you tonight, Fedya?"

He sighed.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't know you would get so upset about it."

Anatole's somehow calm voice seemed to get through the drunk across him.   
Dolokhov relaxed his tense shoulders and his eyebrows furrowed to a frown.

He looked up at the blond.   
"Sorry. That was uncalled for."

Anatole huffed, looking away.   
"You need to control yourself better, est-ce que je m'exprime clairement?***"

The man across him stood up, finally taking his coat off and, not knowing what to do with it, attempted to steady it on the doorknob. It fell, and he scowled frustration.

"You have a point."

  
He was drunk out of his mind, but, somehow, his speech was still clear.   
Fyodor Dolokhov could really fool a man when he was drunk- it was hard to tell apart from the reek of alcohol in his breath.   
Yet, Anatole knew better. He could recognize his friend's unfocused eyes and slightly aimed to rhe left step when he had a tad bit too many to drink.

He shook his head, standing up. The prince approached his friend, cupping his face in both hands.

"Look. I'm sorry Fedya. I really am."

Dolokhov's frown softened. He looked down and did something he hadnt done in ages; Fyodor Dolokhov embraced Anatole and started crying.

The tears flew slowly at first before becoming full on sobs.

The Kuragin prince had no idea what was going on or why the soldier was shaking so much in his arms. All he could do was rub his back and kiss the top of his head reassuringly.

_I am a fool to do this when he just pounced on me._

Dolokhov rarely became violent toward his closest friend, but he nevertheless sometimes did. He would always feel terrible afterwards and would not try to hide it from him, despite the reputation an armyman like himself was thought to have to uphold.

The soldier looked up, his eyes puffy from crying. His gaze became blank as he broke from Anatole's embrace and sat on the bed. The prince joined him.

"I don't know why I did that. I don't know why i did any of that."

The alcohol was already starting to wear off, admittedly, at a monstrously quick pace- something Dolokhov considered a gift and a curse.

"Fedya-", Anatole leaned in to kiss the soldier on the lips and Fyodor turned his face away.  
Annoyed, the prince took his chin in hand and turned it to him, before placing a firm kiss on his lips.

"This is payback for earlier. Your beard scratches, you know."

"Sorry", was the sheepish response. 

"Can you tell me what in the heavens got into you, s'il-te plaît?"

Dolokhov shrugged, coughing a little.

"Did you smoke again? What is this about?"

The soldier remained silent. 

_"Can you please stop ruining yourself?"_

To that, Dolokhov laughed; a malicious, self deprecating laugh.

"The only way I could do that would be to get away from you."

" _Pardon?"_

The armyman scooted closer and made a move to lean in, looking at Anatole for some kind of permission first this time.

"You heard me."

Anatole obliged.

______________________________  
  


[I used Google translate for the Russian and some of the French, combined with my almost non-existent knowledge in both languages. I'm sorry if they're completely wrong]

*Анатоль, мерзкий ублюдок= Anatole, you filthy bastard.

**Ублюдок, трахни свой дом.= Fuck you [fuck your house- translated to Russian from a Greek phrase lol], motherfucker

***est-ce que je m'exprime clairement?= Am i making myself clear?


End file.
